


Protecting the Apple Tree

by AppleSeeds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Baking, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Couch Cuddles, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Snow, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: It's nearly time for Aziraphale and Crowley's first Christmas together since moving to their South Downs cottage and Aziraphale is very excited about it. He wants to recreate all the domestic Christmas activities he's seen in his beloved Hallmark Christmas films, but Crowley might need a little bit of encouragement to come in from the garden, where he is distracted by something in the apple tree.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 102
Collections: Wahoo Winter Gift Exchange





	Protecting the Apple Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Wahoo Winter Gift Exchange, for the lovely @whichzwitch on Twitter! Lesli, I really hope you enjoy this Christmas fluff fest! <3

The oven timer beeped and Aziraphale marked his page and closed his book, setting it down on the side table beside his armchair. With an excited wiggle he returned to the kitchen, slipped on his tartan heatproof gloves and opened the oven door, intensifying the delicious, spicy scent of ginger that had been gradually permeating the cottage for the past forty-five minutes.

With _perhaps_ a small miracle to ensure the biscuit he sampled wouldn’t be too hot, Aziraphale performed the necessary taste test, discovering, inevitably (because how dare they do otherwise), that the gingerbread biscuits had been baked to absolute perfection. Of course, Aziraphale’s judgement alone was not sufficient to evaluate the quality of the biscuits, and he peeked out of the kitchen window into the garden, where Crowley was standing beneath the apple tree, staring up at it pensively.

Aziraphale slid his feet into his slippers and stepped outside, glancing up at the outlines of the bare trees at the end of the garden, silhouetted against the white sky.

“The gingerbread biscuits are ready!” he announced with a beaming smile, approaching Crowley under the apple tree. “Here, try this.”

Crowley’s lips quirked into a small smile and he reached out to take the proffered piece of gingerbread. “S’good,” he mumbled around the mouthful.

“I was hoping you might come in and help me decorate them,” Aziraphale suggested with wide, pleading eyes.

“Isn’t that more your department?”

“It’ll be fun!”

“You’ve been watching too many of those Hallmark Christmas films,” Crowley teased.

“Well, maybe I have, but they’re _wonderfully_ romantic, and now that we have our very own cottage in the countryside I thought it might be fun to try out some of those things for ourselves!”

“Yes, all right, I’ll come inside in a bit,” Crowley conceded, turning his attention back to the apple tree, unsuccessfully disguising his smile from Aziraphale, who followed his gaze to discover what was so interesting in the tree.

“Oh look, there’s mistletoe up there!” Aziraphale observed brightly.

“Yeah.”

“How fortuitous!” he beamed, licking his lips and taking a step towards Crowley, although his unsubtle hint didn’t manage to achieve the desired effect.

“Not really, it’s parasitising the tree, I’m considering getting rid of it.”

“You can’t do that!” Aziraphale protested. “We should be protecting all of God’s living things!”

“Even the parasites that _kill_ God’s _other_ living things?”

“Erm... yes. I think. Please don’t get rid of it; it’s _mistletoe_ , Crowley! And it’s _Christmas_.”

“You’re the one who wanted an apple tree in the garden so you could grow your own apples to bake apple crumble, apple pie, apple tart, apple strudel, apple _muffins_...” Crowley went on, counting the desserts off on his fingers.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale huffed, “but you know that wasn’t the only reason,” he smiled sweetly.

“Yes, all right, don’t get sentimental! You won’t get as many apples if I leave it, you know.”

“I’ll manage. Come on, let’s get inside, it’s cold,” Aziraphale urged, tugging gently on Crowley’s arm.

“Soon, I’m not done yet.”

“What are you doing?”

Crowley gestured to his small wheelbarrow, filled with cuttings from the ivy, holly and spruce, and a small collection of pine cones (the pine tree at the bottom of this particular garden will always drop its cones in December if it knows what’s good for it).

“Are you making decorations?”

“Might make some stuff, s’not why I'm doing it, though. Cutting the plants reminds the others that I won’t stand to be disappointed.”

“Of course, dear. And the pine cones?”

“Tidying up.”

“Mmm. Well, I’ll see you when you’re finished then.”

At that moment, the thick white clouds blanketing the sky began dropping delicate, perfectly-formed snowflakes onto the garden. If the clouds were only doing so in a one hundred metre radius of where Aziraphale was currently standing, well, that wasn’t too unusual a phenomenon, was it?

“Better hurry up, it’s starting to snow,” Aziraphale observed innocently.

“Oh, terrific, thanks,” Crowley grumbled as though Aziraphale had had something to do with it. Aziraphale smirked and returned to the house, setting out all the supplies they would need to decorate the biscuits in the kitchen. He occasionally glanced up to look out of the window, furrowing his brow when he spotted Crowley hoisting himself up onto one of the thick, lower branches of the apple tree, secateurs in hand.

Crowley emerged a little while later, stepping into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist from behind.

“Crowley, you’re wet!” he protested half-heartedly.

“And whose fault is that?”

Aziraphale twisted around in his arms to face Crowley and reached up to brush the snowflakes from his beautiful long, copper curls. Crowley had never admitted that he’d let his hair grow long because Aziraphale liked it, but still, he’d always had his suspicions. He carded his hand affectionately through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley closed his eyes and leaned into his touch.

“You going to do something about it?” Crowley challenged. Aziraphale grinned, and miraculously, each sweep of his fingers through Crowley’s hair left every strand he touched warm and dry. He then wrapped his arms around Crowley, drawing him tightly against him and resting his head on his shoulder, affectionately nuzzling his neck. By the time he withdrew, all of their clothes were perfectly dry.

“Why don’t you start decorating the biscuits? I have something else I’m working on!” Aziraphale announced excitedly. Crowley shrugged and picked up the tube of white writing icing, and Aziraphale smiled secretly behind his back. Christmas had _always_ been special, but this Christmas was going to be the very best.

Aziraphale began assembling the separate pieces of the gingerbread cottage he had baked, which would, with a little angelic intervention, be a perfect replica of their own countryside cottage by the time he was finished.

“Hey, angel, look, I finished one.” Aziraphale spun around and then scowled with playful admonishment as Crowley wiggled a gingerbread man in front of him, decorated to resemble a skeleton.

“It’s not _Halloween_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale chided.

“It’s anatomically correct,” Crowley pointed out. “Look, thirty-three vertebrae, five metacarpals in each hand... You did say you wanted my help, I assumed you wanted a _demonic touch_?” he drawled. Aziraphale felt the colour rise in his cheeks, and Crowley winked at him.

“Perhaps try an elf next time?”

“Or an angel?” Crowley teased. “In pretty white flowing robes, stitched together with gilded thread?”

“That sounds perfect. Behave yourself and you might receive a special Christmas visitation from the real thing.”

Crowley made a series of vaguely dismissive sounds that Aziraphale knew were actually nothing of the sort, his hands immediately reaching for the white icing. A short while later, the kitchen counter was covered with not only a fully-decorated gingerbread cottage, but a whole series of gingerbread angels, each one with blue eyes, a little red smile and a blob of pink icing on each cheek.

“They’re lovely, my dear,” Aziraphale praised.

“Just working with the reference material I had on hand.”

Aziraphale smiled fondly and affectionately squeezed Crowley’s arm. He made them each a cup of hot cocoa with whipped cream and marshmallows, and they retired to their cosy living room, each with cocoa in one hand and a gingerbread angel in the other. The log fire was crackling in the hearth, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow as the sun began to set. Candles flickered on the mantelpiece, and Aziraphale cast his eyes around the room, sighing contentedly, smirking when he spotted a few new additions to the room’s decor.

“Nice garland,” he observed, eyes trailing along the length of the holly, ivy and spruce woven together around a piece of red rope that Aziraphale recognised, studded with pine cones and draped over the mantel.

“Would have been a shame to waste the cuttings.”

“It looks splendid, thank you, my love. I suppose I should let you choose our film tonight, although just so you know, the Hallmark Christmas channel is...”

“No!” Crowley cut him off, sweeping his hand up and clicking his fingers dramatically, the television flickering to life. Aziraphale recognised what was displayed on the screen immediately.

“Home Alone, _really_? Again?”

“You say _again_ as if those Hallmark films you love so much don’t all have exactly the same story.”

“Not _exactly_ the same story,” Aziraphale objected. Crowley mumbled something incomprehensible and then exaggeratedly bit the head off his gingerbread angel. “Now, really!”

“What?” Crowley mumbled with his mouth full, his smirk discernible even so.

“Nothing at all. I’m pleased to see you enjoying yourself,” Aziraphale replied primly, refusing to rise to the bait. Perhaps he could tease Crowley about wanting a bite of an angel later on. For now, Aziraphale tugged on the blanket folded neatly on the armrest of the sofa they shared and draped it over the two of them. It didn’t really matter which film Crowley had wanted to watch, Aziraphale’s mind was always going to be elsewhere as he pulled his feet up onto the sofa and cuddled up to Crowley. Crowley put his arm around him and drew him closer, planting a soft kiss on the top of his head.

When the film finished, Crowley offered for Aziraphale to choose the next one, so they were soon enjoying yet another tale of a cynical, wealthy American businessman travelling to a small, snowy mountain town where everyone knows everyone else, bakes Christmas cookies and visits a Christmas tree farm to find the perfect tree. Aziraphale planned to ask Crowley to go with him to find a Christmas tree tomorrow, although he wasn’t sure whether he would go for the _perfect_ one, probably rather a slightly wonky one that no one wanted, which he would inevitably take pity on.

When the time came to go to bed, Aziraphale stepped out into the hallway, ready to climb the stairs and spotted another new addition to the cottage hanging from the low ceiling.

“Ah, so you decided to cut it after all?”

“Not all of it, just that bit, enough to keep the apple tree healthy.”

“That seems like a very sensible compromise,” Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully. “Was that the only reason?”

“What other reason could I possibly have had?” Crowley teased. Aziraphale gave him a beaming smile and tugged him forwards to stand with him under the mistletoe, planting a soft kiss on his lips, which Crowley reciprocated enthusiastically.

“Did I do well?” Crowley mumbled against Aziraphale’s lips.

“You did _very_ well, my dear.”

“So do I get my visitation from an angel in flowing white robes?”

Aziraphale captured Crowley’s lips in another light, teasing kiss.

“Get into bed,” Aziraphale instructed with an angelic twinkle in his eye. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed all the fluff!! <3
> 
> (The piece of red rope Crowley uses to make the garland is the rope from Aziraphale-as-Crowley's trial in Hell. Given how neatly Aziraphale draped it over the chair on top of Crowley's clothes I have a hard time believing he didn't take it with him after. Souvenir of their victory, perhaps, and very useful for magic tricks as well as garlands)


End file.
